"Well," said Sally, "it's a devil of a nuisance for you, and I'm a nuisance too, but I can't help myself. D'you mind if we take a photograph? Quaint Tudor farmhouse with genuine rafters--bride delightfully workmanlike in tweed costume and bridegroom in full Sherlock Holmes rig-out--you ought to have a pipe and an ounce of shag."
"Or a fiddle and cocaine? Be quick, Sally, and get it over. And see here, old man--I suppose you've got to earn your living, but for God's sake use a little tact."
Salcombe Hardy, his violet eyes luminous with sincerity, promised that he would. But Harriet felt that the interview had left both her and Peter badly mauled, and that, of the two, Peter had come off the worse. He had picked his words carefully, and his light tone rang brittle as glass. There was going
